


How Do I Say This (J'ai Besoin De Toi)

by Liberte_Egalite_Broadway



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, And they just need each other, Angst, Anxiety Attacks, Cuddling & Snuggling, Emotional Baggage, Friendship/Love, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Laflams, Love, Mentions of past attempted murder, Multi, These three are all so broken, True Love, lots of love, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-02
Updated: 2017-07-02
Packaged: 2018-11-12 15:47:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 12,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11165049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liberte_Egalite_Broadway/pseuds/Liberte_Egalite_Broadway
Summary: When things get bad, or dark like they were so recently, I just focus on the truths that I can live by:My name is Gilbert Lafayette. I am imperfect and messy. And I am beautiful. I know this because the two people I love told me so.A while back, I met the most perfect person on the planet, and his name was Alexander Hamilton.Then I met someone else, and he was perfect in a different way; his name was John Laurens.I loved and love both of them more than I thought anyone was capable of. And they love me. And they love each other, too.The whole world seemed against us sometimes, but whether we were cursed or simply enormously unlucky didn't really matter, because we had each other and that meant we could get through anything.All of us were broken. Fortunately, our shattered pieces fit together, and we fixed each other.We fixed each other.





	1. Nightmares, Dreams

**Author's Note:**

  * For [emmiimmeme](https://archiveofourown.org/users/emmiimmeme/gifts).



> Hi emmiimmeme! I took your tags "Alexander Hamilton/John Laurens/Gilbert du Motier, Marquis de Lafayette" and "Alternate Universe - Modern Setting" and turned them into this piece of angst, because I love Laflams AUs. So hopefully you will enjoy it. 
> 
> Trigger Warnings (EVERYONE PLEASE READ BEFORE CONTINUING TO THE FIC):  
> The following story is enormously sad. The three main characters have, between them, three cases of PTSD, two cases of anxiety, social anxiety, flashbacks, depression, night terrors, and three traumatic pasts. Flashbacks refer to traumatic events such as kidnapping, attempted murder, the death of a family member, devastating hurricanes, and being trapped in a burning building. If you have ever been in a similar situation and contracted a mental illness from it, I recommend steering clear of this fanfiction. I don't want to hurt any readers by bringing up what could be a memory for them as well. 
> 
> Most events that existed in the trio's pasts are based on true events from their lives. Lafayette was really kidnapped and people wanted to kill him; Alexander was present for a destructive hurricane; John had a jerk father and blamed himself for the death of a younger brother. I took liberties in the length to which I bring out these events and the effects they have, but I have modeled them on historical accounts.

My name is Gilbert, and I am a wreck of a human being.

I was born rich but now I am dirt poor (and it is enormously complicated, let's just say it wasn't entirely my fault). People have tried to kill me twice. My father is one of the few people in France to still hold the title of a Marquis, a title that would have once belonged to a member of the nobility. Some people think that's unfair, even though the title doesn't mean anything, and radicals think they need to get rid of that idea by terminating all the people who hold one and everyone connected to them. Which means that when they set fire to our house a while back, they didn't mean for me to escape. And when we managed to avoid the place where five gunmen were waiting, one of those bullets was meant for me. 

I was supposed to be safe there, surrounded by my father's security guards, but it became too much for me and I ran away. I was kidnapped in Austria and held for ransom for six months. My family got me back, but by that point I was so scared they didn't really know what to do with me. I was an outsider at my school, where all the other kids had rich parents but, for the most part, not ones that were wanted dead. I never fit in and I was told often that I never would. Coupled with my anxiety, I decided to run away again once I turned 18 (only it was legal that time.) That is how I ended up here in America. 

Fortunately, my father was able to track me down and get me into a good college since he couldn't convince me to come back, so at least I have a bed to sleep in and a place to learn and all that. But I told him I didn't want any financial support because then I am scared that the radicals will somehow track me that way.

So I have very little money and absolutely no friends because my roommate demanded to be moved somewhere else after he found me screaming in the back of my closet at 1 A.M. and it happened five times. He said he was sorry but he needed sleep and I couldn't be his problem anymore. And I am not in counseling because I do not have money for counseling. 

Thus I am completely alone and nobody loves me and I hate myself and I should be dead, why aren't I dead, those men wanted me dead. 

I am nineteen years old.

 

The boy who sits in front of me in my English class is beautiful.

I do not mean that the way someone might think - I am not attracted to him because I am not attracted to anyone (how could I be? Can you imagine how dangerous that would be?) In fact I hardly even mean that in a physical way. I mean, his eyes are nice, I guess. But when I say he's beautiful I really am talking about his mind.

He is so smart and he thinks so well, and I wish I had a brain like that. Then I would not be failing at literally everything. When the professor says something that most of us would just kind of accept, the boy often gets up and explains that it's not true and goes into detail about why. Sometimes it doesn't even look like he's listening to the lecture; just kind of lost in his own world, scribbling words on the composition book where he is supposed to - but does not - take notes. 

I'm not sure what his name is. Maybe if I asked he could help me with my assignments. I get them all done, but they are hard and time-consuming. Not hard enough, though. I finish most of them before dinner, which means I have little choice but to go to bed on time and be plagued for eight hours with night terrors. 

Right now the boy is tapping his pencil on the notebook. He looks impatient, but it's something I would do out of anxiety. 

Maybe I could ask him to be my friend - no. That would be dangerous. I can't ask him to be my friend. He wouldn't want to be, anyway. 

Still, though. 

I wonder if I should ask his name. 

I wonder if it would be weird to ask for his name. 

I wonder if I'll have another nightmare tonight. 

 

 _"This is taking forever,"_ _one of the voices snarls. "It's been six months. No one is coming."_

 _Huddling in the corner, pleading for my life._ _"Please, you just have to give them time," I say desperately. "Letters to France are going to take a while. If you would just let me send an email -"_

_"Why, so you can ask for help?" The other man, the burly one, laughs roughly. "Forget it. Let's just keep him a little longer, and if that father of his doesn't write back..."_

_"Or you could let me go?" I ask timidly._

_A hand on my shirt collar, tossing me into a wall. A voice roaring, "I swear to God, kid, if you don't keep your mouth shut -"_

_"Okay, I'm sorry."_

_Their silent friend kicks at me, and I shrink into the shadows._

_Doors slamming, locks clicking._

_I bury my face in my hands._

_Rats waking up by the sound of my whimpering, and one of them scurries across my foot. I yelp and then cover my mouth._

_"I said shut up!" shouts the first man from the other room._

_I slap away my tears, afraid that I'm going to cry too loudly and one of them will hurt me -_

_Back in Paris, flames flicker over our home._

_Walls crumbling, roof shingles raining down. My leg caught under a piece of rubble._

_I free myself enough to run down the hall and jump out a window into the bushes below._

_My other leg breaking on the impact._

_My father's screams from the driveway._

_My mother's ghost in the house._

_Pain shooting up my legs and pain filling my heart and embers raining down on me burning my skin and flickering in my hair._

_Tossing and turning in Austria, and lying paralyzed at the sight of everything I knew disappearing in tongues of red. Both of these memories flood me at the same time, all at once, too much and I know I'm going to die this time -_

I wake up screaming. 

 

There are dark circles under my eyes, but not much I can do to hide them. Luckily, this is college and so many students have dark circles under their eyes. I am not the only one. I will not stand out in any way. 

Classes are over, so I decide to go for a walk. The internet told me this is supposed to be therapeutic, but really it just makes me think of all the bad memories more. But I keep doing it anyway, hoping maybe it will get better. 

"Heading out, Gilbert?" asks my RA, Hercules, as I walk out the door. He is the only person who ever cares to say hello to me. 

"Yes."

"Have fun." 

I walk around one of the paths of the campus that leads through woods. It's a rural campus right outside of New York City, but far enough away that you can pretend you're in the middle of nowhere as long as you can't see anything. I follow the little dirt path around trees and small hills and try to focus on the sunlight filtering through the trees, and not on the fact that there were trees around my school in France. 

"Hey."

I turn my head to see the boy from my English class. He's sitting on one of the benches scattered along the trail with a notebook and pen in his hand, looking completely at his leisure. I swallow hard because I don't talk to people very often and I'm scared I'll say the wrong thing.

"Hello," I reply. It comes out as a rasp.

"You're Gilbert, right?"

I frown. "How do you know my name?"

The boy gives a half smile that lights up his eyes. They really are very nice. "I pay attention. You're in my English class." He stands up and holds out his hand. "Alexander Hamilton. Nice to finally meet you."

"Ah-lek-zan-der Ham-il-ton," I repeat slowly. The syllables roll nicely off my tongue. People don't notice, but names have a flavor. You can taste them as you let them tumble out of your mouth. His is nice, and has a rhythm to it that sounds almost like a heartbeat. "It is nice to - um, nice to meet you too?" I shake his hand awkwardly. His palm and fingers are calloused - probably from writing so much - and before he drops my hand, he gives it a little squeeze that it oddly reassuring.

"Can I walk with you?" he asks. 

I blink. "Sorry?"

"Can I walk the rest of the trail with you? Since we're going the same way."

I don't understand the words as he strings them together, and he's talking a little too fast. "I-I'm sorry," I say. "I don't speak English very good."

"Oh, right. The accent." Alexander Hamilton smiles and scoops up his notebook, then says in flawless French, "I was asking if I could walk with you."

My jaw drops. A bug flies into my mouth, and I spit it out. Alexander looks amused by this.

"Yeah," he says. "I had to take French for a job I did awhile back, and I picked it up pretty easily."

I can't believe he's not a native speaker. His accent is perfect, so he must have picked it up very very easily. 

Those eyes are so beautiful. I can't stop looking at them. 

"Yes, of course," I say quickly, realizing I've been silent for too long. "I mean, um, of course you can walk with me, I don't mind."

"Thank you." Alexander waits, and when I hesitate, he gestures to the path. "Lead the way."

"Oh, oh right." I start walking, and he falls into step beside me.

We don't talk much at first, but eventually I become curious and start asking him questions about himself. What is he majoring in? How long has he been here? What will he do after? I am thinking they might be too personal for the first time we have met, but I really want to know and he doesn't seem to mind much. Best of all he doesn't ask me any questions in return. It's strangely comfortable, the quick way that we fall into this rhythm. Almost like we already know each other and are just old friends catching up. 

He's smart. That much is so obvious. I already sort of knew it from class, but this is much more than I had imagined. 

Finally the path wraps back around to where it started, and Alexander glances at his watch. 

"Okay, I have to get going now," he says. "But it's been great talking to you, Gilbert."

This surprises me, but I decide not to question it.

"It's been good talking to you, too," I say. He smiles, and then writes something on the corner of a page in his notebook. He rips it out and offers it to me. 

"Call me. We'll get dinner sometime." He punctuates this with a wink. I flush and almost drop the paper as I take it from his fingers. 

"Okay... Um, I mean, I'd like that. Alexander."

"See you around, then."

"See you around."

He strolls off towards the parking lot, and I am left alone. I look down at the page in my hand. 

_Alexander's #: 111-1757_

_Can't wait to see you again._

With a little heart drawn next to "again".

I feel a smile creep over my face, the first smile in such a long time. I guess I was wrong and he did want to be my friend. 

It's only after I'm back in my dorm with homework spread out before me that I realize I didn't think of anything bad since Alexander said hello to me. 

 


	2. John and Alexander

I crawl out of bed in the middle of the night with a blanket wrapped around me, shaking and not from the cold. I need something to do. I can't go back to sleep tonight.

My phone is lying on my nightstand. I snatch it up, retreat into my closet, close the door, and flick the phone on.

At that moment I hear something like paper crunching. I reach into the pocket of my sweatshirt and find that Alexander's number is in it. He's probably not awake, but on a whim I flip over to messages and type the numbers in. Eleventy-one one thousand seven hundred fifty seven. I type in, "hello."

To my surprise, a message comes back.

Alexander: Bonjour, cheri. ;D

I roll my eyes and type out a reply.

Gilbert: I didn't think you'd be up.

Alexander: Back at you. Night owl?

Gilbert: Kind of.

Alexander: So when can I take you to dinner?

I feel obliged to roll my eyes again, because come on. Still, it's a little endearing and I feel myself smiling as I type:

Gilbert: I just met you

Alexander: Ik. This is not a drill. Also not a date.

Gilbert: In that case fine.

Alexander: Tomorrow?

I quickly think this over. Tomorrow's a Saturday. I don't ever have anything going on outside of classes, self-therapy, and trying not to sleep, but maybe tomorrow would bring on extra anxiety for some reason. It wouldn't, but I'm not entirely sure going out to dinner would be a good idea. It would get dark and all of my worst flashbacks and attacks come at night. I don't want Alexander to see me like that because I don't want anyone to see me like that.

Gilbert: That's fine but let's do breakfast

Alexander: Noooo. :( I don't eat breakfast.

Gilbert: Then what do you have in mornings?

Alexander: Um, coffee?

Gilbert: That's bad for you.

Alexander: Whatever.

Gilbert: Fine, lunch then.

Alexander: What do you have against dinner?

Gilbert: What do you have against breakfast?

Alexander: Touché. Lunch it is. When can I pick you up?

Gilbert: 11:30? I'll be outside the Drew building.

Alexander: Sounds great. Will be counting down minutes. ;)

Gilbert: You have a lot to count.

Alexander: Yeah but I'll still count them.

I hesitate only a moment before typing:

Gilbert: Yeah, me too.

Alexander: ^.^

Gilbert: Can I tell you a secret?

Alexander: Please do

Gilbert: You are the first friend I've ever had.

Alexander: Then I will strive to be the best. Oh sorry, I have to go. My roommate needs something

Gilbert: Your roommate is also up at 1 am?

Alexander: He's crazy like us. Anyway, bye.

Gilbert: See you tomorrow.

The icon saying he is online disappears, and I turn off my phone and go back to bed. I lie there for a while, thinking about Alexander and wondering why he's so interested in being my friend when I only met the man one time.

I've never actually gone out to lunch with someone, so I am relieved he doesn't want it to be a date or I would be very nervous. But it should be fun, and hopefully will not end - or begin - in disaster.

I roll over, pulling a blanket around myself, and decide to sleep. Nightmares are going to come, but I want to be well rested tomorrow so I don't look like I'm the sleepless wreck that I actually am. The fact that both Alexander and his roommate are awake this late is surprising, though. He probably has a normal reason for being up, like homework or something whereas I am awake because of things that happened to me forever ago which I cannot get out of my mind. But if I hadn't woken up, I would not have texted Alexander and he wouldn't have asked me to lunch. So in a way this wasn't so bad.

My eyes slide shut. I dream of fires and fear until dawn.

 

A call from Alexander comes in as I'm washing my face from crying into my pillow for half an hour. I pick up the phone and answer it.

"Hello?"

"Hey, Gilbert. I'm really really sorry but lunch isn't going to work today."

Disappointment surges through me, but I try to play it cool, and think over what to say. I go over to my window as I talk and close it to keep the rain from getting in. "How come?" I spit out. Instantly I wish I'd said something else.

"Well, there are thunderstorms until three today," he says, "and I think I should stay off the road. Visibility, you know?"

"Okay." I sit down on my bed, a little confused. A car is the safest place to be in a storm or so I hear, and I really want to see him again. An idea comes to me, and I decide to just go for it. "Well, if the storms end in the afternoon, we could get dinner instead."

"Ooh, you're dropping your hate for the evening meal?" I can hear the smile in his voice, and the gentle teasing brings one to my lips as well.

"Maybe a very little bit."

"In that case we're still on. When can I get you?"

"Whenever you want."

"Five, then."

"Five is perfect. Can't wait." Did I just say that?

"Me neither." There is a brief silence, and then Alexander says, "Hey Gilbert?"

"Yes?"

"Can I ask why you were awake last night?"

I pause for a moment, holding the phone against my ear and breathing heavily. The nightmare that I haven't entirely chased from my mind yet flickers across my vision, and I quickly focus back to the present. "I don't feel entirely comfortable telling you that," I said quietly.

"Okay. That's fine." Alexander clears his throat. "See you tonight, then."

"Oh - how much money should I bring?"

"None. I'm taking you, so it's my treat."

"Really?"

"Really. See you soon, Gilbert."

"See you."

I hang up and flop back down onto my bed. The storm pounds against the closed windows, and I let out a deep sigh as I try to figure out what to do until five today. I can't just lie here all day and wait for anxiety attacks to just descend upon me. I sit up and do the breathing routine I found on a medical forum yesterday, then get dressed and scoop up a textbook.

 

Minutes then hours then days slip past. I go out to dinner with Alexander and do not have an anxiety attack - one hits as soon as I get home, but I'm so happy that I'm able to struggle through it with the thought of him guiding me to the end.

I switch my seat in English so I'm sitting next to him, and when things get boring we pass notes as if we were in Junior High. We text all the time. It's nice to have a friend.

Still, though, things are still not perfect. I have not told Alexander about my panic attacks, my PTSD, my anxiety, or my past. I still wake up screaming most mornings, and I often have to cry myself to sleep.

Today I am huddled in the back of my closet as I often am with tears running down my face, clutching my phone and re-reading the title of the news article over and over again. A French minister was assassinated this morning. Who's to say my father's not next - or by extension, me?

For an instant I'm back in the car as our driver spins the wheel desperately, and my father and I are ducking behind seats as the driver receives instructions on his bluetooth phone, that there are gunmen perched on the roof of a building near our route.

I bury my face in my arms, tears soaking into the sleeves of my sweatshirt. I flip over to something anything anything at all else on my phone, but the article is still there branded into my mind and any minute that door is going to be kicked down and I will be dead.

This time I will die.

Though I know this isn't real, that I'm not really in the car and probably not really in danger, my body can't catch up with this though. My pulse starts racing and I feel sweat beading under my curls and running down my face. I close my eyes to suppress the hot tears. Now I am hyperventilating and I can't seem to stop. I need to talk to someone. I need to have a human voice getting me through this.

Through the tears streaming down my face, I manage to type in Alexander's number. I hold the phone with trembling fingers to my ear. The first ring startles me and I turn down on the volume. He doesn't answer his cell. I swear and dial his home number, and twice the phone slips from my sweaty fingers. Finally I get the number in.

On the third ring someone picks up. But the voice is a man's voice, which is not Alexander's and which I definitely do not know.

"Hello, this is John Laurens."

I freeze and then slowly loosen as I realize the name is familiar. John Laurens is Alexander's roommate whom he talks about all the time and who is apparently a really great person. I struggle to speak.

"H-hi. Is Alexander there?"

"Sorry, he's at work. Who's calling, please?"

He's out? No no no no I need to talk to him "My name is Gilbert Motier." - The name I use in America just to be safe. - "D-do you kn-know when he'll b-be b-back?"

"Oh, Gilbert Motier? Hi. Yeah, Alexander talks about you a lot. He's -"

"Do you know when he'll be back?!" I half scream into the phone. "P-please, I really need to talk to him and he's not answering his cell..." I feel tears run down my face, and I am unable to stop them. A small sob escapes me.

"It might be de- hey, are you crying?"

I shake my head, which sends tears down onto my phone, and let out another choked cry. The line is silent for a moment. Then John Laurens breaks it.

"Are you okay?"

What's the point in lying? "No."

"Okay." He takes a deep breath. "How about - how about you can talk to me until Alexander gets home from work? Okay?"

"O-okay," I stammer. "I'm really scared because - because-"

"Whoa whoa whoa, calm down," John Laurens says. "Hey, Gilbert, breathe, okay? Try to match my breaths. Ready? In, and out." He inhales and then exhales into the phone. I gulp and take a deep, shuddering breath that sends shivers through my body. "Good, good," says John. "Now do it again. Come on, breathe."

I obey, matching my breaths to his.

"Good job. Now, do you want to tell me what's wrong?"

"Um." I swallow hard. "It-it's complicated. It's really complicated. But a while back some bad people tried to... um, tried to kill me and -"

"Hold up. Someone wanted to kill you?"

"Yes -" a few more tears run down my face - "and then a Minister was killed this morning so I am scared they're coming for me next - and - and -"

"Oh, no," says John. "No, no no no. You're getting worked up again - come on honey, breathe. Just breathe. It's going to be okay. Listen, you're okay."

"No," I mumble.

"I can't hear what you're saying, sweetheart, can you talk louder."

"NO, I'm not okay," I sob. "I'm not going to be okay." I slap away my tears. "I-I'm ss-sorry I b-bother-red y-you, r-really-"

"Alright, fine. Where are you?"

I halt mid-sob. "Wha?"

"Where are you right now? I'm gonna come."

"R-really?"

"Yeah. Really. It doesn't sound like you should be alone. Can you tell me where you are?"

"I-I don't really know you th-though..."

"Gilbert, do you trust Alexander?"

"Y-yes?"

"Okay, would Alexander be roommates with me if I weren't safe?"

"No?"

"Right. So I'll come and help you, okay?"

"D-don't hang up-"

"Honey, I have to hang up while I'm driving, okay? I'm getting in my car right now. Please tell me where you are."

"Dorm n-number six, building thr-three."

"Dorm six building three. Got it. I'm on my way. Just breathe until I get there. I'm going to be there in five minutes."

"Promise?"

"Yeah, promise. Don't worry, Gilbert. I'm coming."

He hangs up and I collapse against one of the walls, breathing heavily. I am in the middle of a panic attack and walls on fire are crashing down around me and someone who I don't even know is coming to comfort me or talk me through this or I don't even know what. But John Laurens seems nice, at least what I can tell from the phone conversation and I think maybe I can trust him, especially because Alexander trusts him.

I realize that he won't be able to find me if I'm here in the closet, and with sweaty fingers I manage to turn the knob and tumble out into my room. It's cooler in there and I get up and stumble over to my bed, with shivers running all through my body. My heart speeds up and I trip on my way to sit down.

Fire raining everywhere. Guns pulled out ending the life of that Minister.

Guns training in on me and triggers being pulled.

I start hyperventilating again, and when I squeeze my eyes shut I see more guns and more of those radicals who hated my father and therefore me and bullets firing triggers pulled blood spreading me dead.

Maybe I should just be dead and I wouldn't have to be scared anymore because I wouldn't be anything because I would be dead.

I cover my head, trying to block out everything as my heart starts going faster and faster and fasterfasterfasterfasterfasterfasteranddoesn'tstop.

I don't want to die, I don't want to die, I don't want to die...

Hot tears run down my face and my fists clench in the blankets for something to hold onto and I don't want to die and -

The door bursts open.

I lift my head and have a brief glimpse of a beautiful freckled face before I feel strong arms seize around me and pull me into an embrace. I gasp, because no one has ever embraced me in my whole life that I can remember, at least not since my father bought me back from the kidnappers, but that was the only time and that felt painful and frightening while this feels...

Nice.

My heart rate slows down as I hesitantly lean into the embrace. I bury my face in John Laurens's shoulder and close my eyes as warm tears roll down my cheeks and onto his shirt. He smells like watercolor paint and freshly cut grass. And underneath that, I catch a faint hint of Alexander's cologne. Evidently as roommates, some of the smell got onto him.

"Breathe," John commands. "Come on. Like this."

I listen to his breathing and match mine to it, like we did over the phone. His arms are strong but gentle, and I feel safe even though I hardly know him. He rubs my back in a sort of spiral motion that is oddly soothing. For a while we just stay there like that as my heart rate returns to normal and my body stops shuddering from sobs. The fear fades a little. The panic attack is over.

"Thank you," I whisper against his shoulder.

"You're welcome." He pulls back a little and we look at each other. His eyes are a light greenish-blue, and his long brown hair is pulled back into a ponytail. He has so many freckles. I wonder how much time you have to spend in the sun to get that many freckles. He studies me for a moment, his eyes flicking over my face, and then his lips spread in a smile, and he pushes back one of my curls that has fallen from the bun I keep them in. "Hi there," he says. I smile back a little.

"Hi."

"So, how are you feeling?"

"A little better. Thank you again."

"Don't mention it."

We sit there for a minute, and then John stands up.

"Come on. You can come home with me."

I look up. "Huh?"

"In case you have another panic attack. So you won't have to be alone." He sits down next to me again and says quietly, "and trust me, as someone who's been having panic attacks for twelve years, that it's better not to be alone."

Twelve years?

"Maybe you already know that." He clears his throat and looks over at me. "Alexander will be home soon... I hope I don't sound creepy saying this."

I laugh a little, but because I'm still sort of crying it sounds all shaky. "No, you don't." I stand up. "Is that actually okay?"

"It's fine by me and it will be fine by Alexander too. Get whatever you want to bring, and we can get going."

I can't help but smile as I scoop my backpack up off the floor. This was certainly not how I expected today to go.


	3. A New Life

I wake up early, before my alarm clock goes off as usual, breathing heavily with tears running down my face, which I bury in my hands. Sweat holds my clothes to my skin even though I slept with the fan that Alexander bought for me turned on. I wipe my eyes on my sleeve, grab some clothes, turn my alarm off so it won't wake up my friends, and go down the hall to take a fast shower before I have to make breakfast. 

It's been three weeks since I started living with Alexander and John. That first day, I came home with John and Alexander, when he got back, was a little surprised to see me but did not complain or say I had to leave or anything like that. So I awkwardly explained why I was there. He suggested I call my RD, get my stuff, and move in with them permanently. By the end of the week he had all the legal stuff we needed to get done already done and I became their roommate. 

First change was food. I noticed Alexander and John do not really eat very well, which is bad, so I took over cooking and demanded that Alexander have something other than coffee for breakfast from now on. He grudgingly agreed to follow my rules. He's kind of cute when he's annoyed. 

John is helping me convert Alexander's office into my bedroom. I was worried I would have to sleep on their couch forever, but Alexander told me to take the office, and said he doesn't really need it anyway. 

I learned after explaining my disorders to Alexander that both of them have severe mental illnesses as well. Alexander has PTSD and social anxiety, which is awful for him because he's extroverted and loves being among people. He's just always worried what people are going to think. 

John was a child abuse victim, but doesn't have any scars because, as he says, "people can abuse you without laying a finger on you." His father was a jerk to him, but because John is amazing, he forgave him and still loves him. So John gets panic attacks and nightmares all the time, like me. Also, he has depression. 

So we are all broken, which means that we are good for each other. They are both so nice and caring and they trust me and I can trust them completely. We are like three parts of a whole. Meeting them was finding something about me that had been missing all  along without me ever noticing. 

I haven't told either of them yet, but...

I love them.

I love both of them. I haven't told them so but I think maybe they already know. And maybe it is vain to assume, but I have a suspicion that somehow, just maybe, they might love me too. 

 

Alexander comes into the kitchen while I'm making breakfast and smiles when he sees me. "Good morning," he says. "You're already up?"

I nod. "I wanted to get this done before you woke up."

"You really don't need to do this for us every morning, Gil."

"I know, but I want to." I smile. I smile a lot lately, a lot more than I used to. They make me so happy and I love them so much for it. "It's nice to have someone to cook for other than myself, in a microwave. And besides, it's better than you having coffee for breakfast every morning."

Alexander smiles back. "I guess so." He gestures to the coffee machine. "Can I at least have some with breakfast?"

"Yes. As long as you eat something to."

He pulls out a packet of grounds and fills up a container with water and flips one of the buttons on the coffee machine. I look over at him and notice something.

"Is that my sweatshirt?"

"Ye-e-e-eesss,"

"Alexander, why would you take my sweatshirt?"

He shrugs. The sweatshirt is about five inches too long on him and when he shrugs the fabric around his shoulders bunches up. "I dunno. It's warm. And comfortable." He winks. "And it smells like you."

"That was a slightly creepy statement." 

"Do you want it back?"

"No, keep it. I don't wear it very often." I turn away and pull the fridge open again to start putting ingredients back in, when suddenly Alexander's hand seizes my arm and he pulls me down and kisses me on the cheek.

"Thanks," he says with a smirk. I feel a grin spread across my face. 

"I miss something?" asks John from the doorway. We both turn to him, and he raises an eyebrow. "Alexander, isn't that sweater too big for you?"

"It's mine," I say with a sigh.

"Mine now," retorts Alexander, crossing his arms over his chest. 

John looks over at me. "Gilbert, do not let him steal your clothes. He already has two of my sweaters and five of my shirts. Not to mention my suit coat."

"It fits me nicely, though," Alexander protests.

"This is what I mean." 

I roll my eyes and shut the fridge door. "Tomorrow I am going online shopping for both of you."

"Oh, you don't need to do that," John says. "Don't spend your money on -"

"I'm not spending my money. We have joint back accounts now, remember?"

"Oh right." John blinks, and I giggle a little. This kind of life is tricky to get used to for me, as well. One day I am alone, spending hours in the back of my closet curled up in a ball and weeping. The next I'm slapped down into a strong, intimate friendship with two of the best people on the world with whom I now share a house, a bank account, a car, and a life. It's kind of amazing to be honest and I have smiled so much lately I feel like a whole new person even though I still have nightmares and get scared.  

I think that that will always be a part of me, and that is the hardest thing about living, but at least now I am living and not just surviving.

If I was ever even doing that. 

 

_It is only after I'm in John's car that I freeze._

_"I can't do this," I realize._

_"What? Why not?"_

_"Because if I go over to your house Alexander will want to know why I am there. And then he will find out that I have anxiety."_

_John pulls over, stops the car, and looks over at me. "You didn't tell Alexander that you have anxiety?"_

_I shake my head. "I was going to tell him when I called... but now I'm not so sure."_

_"Why? Why don't you want to tell him?"_

_"Because... I'm..."_

_"You're ashamed of it?"_

_"Hmm?"_

_"You're ashamed?"_

_I shake my head. "I do not know what ashamed means."_

_"Oh." John smiles, and then says in French, "I said, you're not going to tell Alexander because you're ashamed?"_

_"You know French too?"_

_"I spent a year in France. Anyway, am I right?"_

_"Yes, kind of." I twist a section of my shirt around in my hand. "I don't want him to know that there is something wrong with me."_

_"I get it." John smiles a little. "Do you have a crush on him?"_

_I nod. "Yes. I mean, no! Not like that!" I feel a blush spread across my face as John throws back his head and laughs. "I have a crush on him, but not - not like that. Not a romantic crush. Alexander is a really really good friend." I glance down. "He's... my only friend, actually..."_

_"That's not true."_

_I glance up. "What?"_

_"You have two. I'm your friend now."_

_I feel my blush spread, and then even more when John reaches over and brushes back that curl again._

_"I'm glad Alexander's cell was dead," he says softly. I look down, positive that my face is bright red, and can almost sense John's smirk as he starts the car again. I don't look at him, though. "And by the way, Gilbert, Alexander is not going to judge you. He... we've both had lots of issues in the past." He swallows hard. "I just wanted to tell you that."_

_"_ Why _are you telling me that?"_

_"Because, Gilbert, you should know before it's too late."_

_I look over at him. There is blood running down his chin from his mouth, with more smeared all over his face. I scream and pull open the door to the car, tumbling out._

_The rough road scraping my side as I slide across the ground._

_I scramble to my feet and look up and see a burning building in front of me. Alexander is standing amidst the flames and he stretches out a hand to me through them._

_"This is your fault, Gilbert," he says._

_Words ringing in my ears. I cover my head._

_"Stop it!"_

_"It's because of you," says John's voice from behind me. "We are both going to die and it's going to be your fault." I turn towards him._

_"I'm s-sorry," I sob. "Please just let me out."_

_"You're never getting out of this," whispers Alexander._

_"Never."_

_"Never."_

And that's when John starts screaming. 

I sit up with sweat running down my face and push back my hair, waiting for the ringing cries that must be left over from a nightmare to stop. But they don't stop so I cover my ears and the sound is muffled which proves it is real. John is screaming and I am just sitting here. I throw off my blanket and run down the hall trying to find him, when I realize that the sound is coming from the living room and I go in there. Alexander is sitting in the floor with John held against him, one arm around John's back and the other across his chest. John clings to this arm with his face pressed into the front of Alexander's shirt. He's sobbing and sobbing and doesn't seem capable of stopping and I realize I have never seen John cry before and it scares me so I stand there helpless with nothing to do. Alexander looks up and gives me this sad smile.

"Hey," he says quietly. 

"What's the matter?"

Alexander strokes John's hair gently and looks down at him. "His brother Jemmy died five years ago today. At one in the morning."

I glance over at the clock to see that it is one seventeen.

"John still thinks it's his fault," Alexander adds. "After all this time."

"It was my fault," John sobs. 

I walk over to him and sit down next to him, wrapping both of my arms around him. " _Cheri,_ I'm sure it wasn't your fault. Sometimes... accidents happen or people just don't make it." I swallow hard. "Sometimes people don't make it," I repeat. "But that isn't your fault."

John looks up at me with tears running down his face, and I feel my heart break a little bit more. I swallow again, unsure of what to say, because what do you say when someone you've come to love is shattering in the arms of someone else who you also love and you've just had a dream about both of them on the brink of death and that dream is still somewhere in your head? I don't know what to do I don't know what to say. 

What do you do when you are one of three people as broken as we all are?

I'm not sure what I'm supposed to do. But what I end up doing is brushing back John's hair and kissing him on his forehead before embracing him again. "It's okay, it's okay," I say over and over again. "It's okay and we're here now."

Alexander glances at me, and then leans towards John again. "Do you want some meds?"

John nods weakly.

"I'll go get them. Just wait here with Gil for a minute." He looks back at me. "Is that okay?"

"Of course."

Alexander lets go of John, who crawls closer to me and curls up in my arms. "I'll be right back." He walks off to the bathroom to get the pills, and I stay there on the floor letting John cry into my shoulder. He clutches me and I can feel his tears soaking through my shirt. But I don't let go. And I don't say anything. But he does. 

"Gilbert," John mumbles.

"Yes?"

He looks up at me; I brush away the tears rolling down his face. "Gilbert, I love you."

I smile and place another kiss on his forehead. "I love you too, _cheri._ "

Alexander comes back with two white pills and a glass of water, and John untangles himself from me to sit up. He puts the pills in his mouth and reaches for the water with shaky hands. Alexander stops him. 

"It's okay, I've got it. I'll hold the glass, you just swallow. Okay?" 

John nods, and Alexander places a hand on the back of his head. He tilts the glass a little so John can drink and then pulls it away and wipes off the drop rolling down John's chin. "Good job." He tilts his head to the side, indicating the couch. "Want to sit somewhere more comfortable?"

John looks over at me. "You can go back to bed, Gil," he says. "I'm sorry I bothered you." 

I just smile. "I'm not going anywhere,  _mon chou._ "

And that makes John and Alexander smile as well. 

Finally we all get situated on the couch with John curled up between us with his head in Alexander's lap and me sitting half next to, half behind him with my arms wrapped around him. Alexander grabs a blanket folded up on the back of the couch and spreads it over John and me. The world is silent, and it's peaceful here in the early morning. I feel myself starting to drift off, so I lay my head against John's shoulder and close my eyes. 

"I love you," I hear Alexander whisper as I'm falling asleep.

"Which one of us?" I manage to mumble back. 

As sleep claims me, he replies, "Both of you." 


	4. Rainstorm Turned Hurricane

John stays curled up between us on the couch all night and through part of the morning. Alexander and I rub his back and stroke his hair and try to keep him calm. He just seems... numb. Sometimes he drifts into a fitful sleep for about five minutes. Then he wakes up crying again.

“Last year was worse,” says Alexander during one of these moments that John is asleep. I look over at him, but he is staring at the wall lost in thoughts that I cannot see until they come creeping out of his mouth and filling my mind as well. “We'd just moved in together a few months before. I found him on the floor of the bathroom holding a knife and just _screaming_. It was like he was going insane.” He smooths out John's hair and looks over at me. “I had to knock him out so he wouldn't hurt himself. He scratched me up pretty badly.”

“'m sorry,” John whispers. We both look down at him. His eyebrows are creased but his eyes are still closed (maybe he's half asleep still). I need something good to happen. I need something to distract him from this.

He sits up and leans on me, resting against my chest, his head tucked under my chin. I run my fingers softly through his hair. “It's okay,” I whisper. “Everything is going to be okay.” I press another kiss onto the side of his head, and his hair is all sweaty so I pull back a little and press my forehead to his. “Why don't you go take a shower and change into some clean clothes? I can make you something to eat while you do that.”

“Orange scones,” he mumbles.

“Alright, _mon chou_. Orange scones it is.” I help him to sit up and then I get off the couch. My spine kind of hurts from being in the same position for so long. I stretch and then bend back down to give John yet another kiss, this one between his eyes – then, so Alexander won't feel left out, I give him one in the same place. “Go shower,” I command John. He smiles faintly and climbs off of the couch and retreats.

"So what do you want me to do?" asks Alexander.

I wave him to the kitchen. "Come on, you can help me." 

"I don't know how to bake."

"That is why I'm going to teach you." I reach over and tangle my fingers through his and spin him into the kitchen. "Now grab the sugar and the flour." 

Alexander is staring at me somewhat annoyed. I lift an eyebrow. "What? Get the sugar and flour!"

"The sugar and flour are in the cabinet above the sink."

"Yes?"

"I'm..."

I giggle a little. "You're too short!" 

"Yeah, okay, hilarious. Can you get it, please?"

I grab the sugar and flour down from the cabinet and then look over at Alexander again. "Is John going to be okay?" 

Alexander smiles a little, sadly. "I don't think any of us are ever going to be completely okay, Gilbert."

I feel my face fall, and look down at the floor sadly. He's right and things are not okay. And probably never will be. I wonder if I will ever be something other than this mess that I am - I can pretend, I can say I'm changed, I can focus on how happy they make me - but I can't get rid of my issues because they have become me. I let them define me. And I don't know how to change that. 

And John - his brother died years and years ago and he still thinks it's his fault somehow, which just shows how near the fear and flashbacks still are for him. And Alexander still curls up in a ball and panics every time there is a thunder storm. 

We are all so broken. 

But that's why we work.

The worst things about us are also the best because they hold us together.

I reach over and grab Alexander and pull him to me. "Forget the scones for a minute. I need to hug you."

He laughs and buries his face in my chest. "What's this for?"

"I don't know. I love you like crazy."

"There was a grammar error in that."

"Whatever."

He presses his forehead against my collarbone. "I'm going to make things better, Gil," he says. "Once I can make enough money off of my writing, I'll get us out of here and get all the meds and counseling that you and John need. I'll make us rich."

"I don't want to be rich," I mumble. "I just want to be yours." 

 

I come into the living room with tears still pouring down my face, because I haven't been able to stop them ever since they started. Alexander is lying on the couch with his head in John's lap and his fingers typing something out across his phone. They both look up when they see me, and instantly Alexander sits up and they're both on their feet.

"Honey, what's wrong?" John runs over to me and grabs me by my arms. "Gilbert, talk to us." He guides me over to the couch and I sit down. They both sit next to me and hold me. 

"Did you have a bad dream?" asks Alexander. "Or a flashback?"

I stare ahead at the floor, tears running down my face.

_Standing neck deep in freezing water with the ashes of my house raining down around me. Five men stand on shore with guns pointed at me._

_Alexander and John suddenly appearing next to me, and one of the gunmen steps towards us._

_"Kill them."_

_"What?" I scream back._

_"I said kill them. Or we'll kill you."_

"Gilbert?" says Alexander, shaking me. "Gilbert, come on, talk to us."

_Voices blurring, my head spinning and Alexander and John held under the water._

_"If you do it," the man from the shore calls, "all this will go away."_

_They're struggling and I'm trying to save them but hands are holding them down and I realize the hands are mine._

_"NO!"_

"Something's wrong," says John urgently. "Gilbert, talk to us sweetheart, come on, we need you to talk to us."

_I pull my hands out of the water and see that they are covered in blood. Alexander and John are dead when I pull them up and the water is on fire. I spin around and the men are laughing. One of them trains his gun on me._

_"You killed them," he bellows._

_"You made me!" I scream back. He just laughs and pulls the trigger._

I gasp, and Alexander and John tighten their arms around me. "Gil," John says. "Gilbert, talk to us, come on." 

 "I had a dream where - where..." I start hyperventilating because what if it's real? I would never hold them underwater or end their life by my hands of course, because I love them, and it was just a dream maybe but there are people who want me dead and if they are determined enough they will kill me and they will kill the two men I love to get to me and everything is so complicated and I'm so scared mywholebodyisshakingIbarelyfeelthearmsholdingmeandthistimeIwilldie

Gilbert listen to us listen to us Gilbert we love you says Alexander but I barely hear him because now I am thinkingabout what happened whenIturnedmyphoneontocheckthetime

I have an app installed that feeds news to my phone

News: Michel Lafayette funeral held in Paris

News: Michel Lafayette was murdered three days ago and his son did not know because it was not front page news and that is all he reads

News: Gilbert, you are dead and Alexander and John are going to die and you need to get out of here

Gilbert talk to us Alexander what's wrong with him says John but so much is wrong with me

I should be gone from here by now or better yet I should be dead no one can kill me if I am dead and then maybe Alexander and John will live and I do not want to live if it means they are going to die.

News: Gilbert, you are already dead.

You always have been you always are you always will be.

I double over sobbing and screaming and all these emotions are coursing through me so I stop screaming and stop sobbing and just go numb and everything hurts my head my heart my mind my body even though Alexander and John are holding me so tight I might just melt into them. 

"I had a dream where I killed you," I say, the words tumbling out of my mouth bitter and cold "and then I woke up and found out my father was murdered." 

They exchange glances over my head.

"Gilbert, we knew your father died days ago," says John quietly. "We didn't want to tell you because... we didn't know how you'd take it."

"Or what we'd say," Alexander adds. 

I pull out of their arms, jerked to reality by the need to keep them alive. "I can't stay here." 

"Why not?"

"Because the men who killed him have tried to kill me before," I explain shakily. "Twice."

"But why would they kill your father?" asks Alexander, grabbing me again as I try to run. 

"Because they are wrong!"  I exclaim. Tears are pouring down my face and John keeps trying to brush them away but they keep coming and I try to explain in desperate bursts. "There are - some titles - in France," I choke out. "Nobility from - the old times. Some people think that's wrong - my father - had one. He was the Marquis de Lafayette. So they killed him." 

John and Alexander stand silent before me, looking helpless and I feel helpless as I bury my face in my hands. My father, i barely even knew him because I was always running and rebelling or hiding, but he deserved to live because no one deserves to be shot like a dog the way he was but if he is dead I am probably next and I really need to run.

"Gilbert," says John slowly. 

"Yes?" I whimper.

"If your father is dead, doesn't that mean that technically...  _you're_ the Marquis de Lafayette now?"

I lift my head out of my hands.

And that's when we hear a knock on the door. 


	5. The Marquis de Lafayette

 I look between John and Alexander, panicking. "It's them," I whisper. "It has to be them."

Alexander crosses to a side window and looks out. "There's a small black car with a French flag painted on the roof and the words - hang on, it's hard to read from here -"

" _Avec la noblesse,_ " I whisper. "Down with the nobility... It's them."

It is them. 

They found me. 

I am going to die. 

"John, take Gilbert into one of the bedrooms and lock the door," commands Alexander in a low, serious voice.

"Shouldn't we try to run?" John hisses under his breath. 

"They could be waiting at the back door," I say. I feel dizzy, all my blood rushing and my heart racing. In a few moments I will no longer exist. I will be a body on the ground and a blood spatter on the floor. 

I swoon backwards; John catches me and lifts me in his arms.

"Take him out of here and stay with him," says Alexander, advancing towards the door. I struggle to get away, but John carries me into Alexander's bedroom, which is nearest, and dumps me onto the bed. He goes over to the door and locks it, and I crawl off the bed and go over to John. His arms secure around me, and he holds my head against his chest, one hand on the back of my neck, one hand stroking my spine in the same spiral motions as that first time he held me all those months ago. Through the wood, we can hear Alexander's footsteps crossing the floor. He turns the knob, and the front door creaks open. 

"Can I help you?" we hear him say. 

"We're looking for a Gilbert Lafayette. Does he live here?"

"Sorry, I don't know a Gilbert Lafayette. You have the wrong address." 

"Oh really?" The second voice is more accented than the first, and they are both rough and angry sounding. There are footsteps as they enter our house, and I curl deeper into John and his arms tighten around me and he kisses the top of my head. 

I'm going to die, I'm going to die, I'm going to die...

"All our sources say he lives here," says the first voice.

"Guess they're wrong." 

"Listen, we know who you are," says a third voice. "And, Mr. Hamilton, we don't want anyone to get hurt without reason. If you tell us where he is we will let you go unharmed."

"What, you'll just kill him?" Alexander retorts sharply. 

"So you do know him." 

Alexander is silent. I'm clutching John so tight I'm surprised his shirt doesn't rip in my grasp. 

"If you tell us where he's hiding, Mr. Hamilton," says the first voice calmly, "We will not only let you and your other friend - John Laurens, was it? - we will not only let you live, but we will provide you with ten thousand dollars to show our gratitude."

"No," says Alexander. 

"Fifteen thousand, then." 

"Rest assured, Mr. Hamilton," says one of the other men, "we  _will_ find your little boyfriend, whether you turn him over to us or not. We are simply offering you the option of profiting from our discovery."

"Why?" asks Alexander, and I can tell he is stalling for time. He has some sort of plan. John rubs my back and keeps holding and kissing me, trying to calm me down. I clutch him still tighter.

"Why? Why because, Mr. Hamilton, we come from a country where the ideas of a long-dead society are still paraded and upheld. The nobility have long since ceased to hold any purpose or give anything to the common man. Yet they are still privileged, while some still starve." 

"Fine, you know what?" I hear paper crinkling, like money. "Here's seven thousand bucks. I'll pay you to get out of my face."

"No, Mr. Hamilton, you do not understand," laughs the first man. "With his father out of the way and no other family or offspring to take the title, your friend Gilbert is the last Marquis de Lafayette."

"You stay away from him," says Alexander dangerously. "If you so much as lay a finger on him, I swear to God I will -"

"There is no threat you can give us which will hold weight, Mr. Hamilton," interrupts the man with a laugh. "As you perhaps can see, there are five of us and only one of you." 

"Huh, I only see three of you."

"The other two wait at your back door, should the Marquis think of escaping."

My blood runs cold. I pull back and look up into John's eyes, but find them trained at the door, his lips forming Alexander's name, so I bury my face in his chest again. 

"Step aside, Mr. Hamilton, or things will become... unpleasant."

"I'm not going to let you hurt Gilbert. If you want him, you'll have to come through me first."

"Courageous though you are, that shouldn't be a problem."

I hear a sound like a gun hammer being cocked, and instantly I tear out of John's arms and unlock the door and fly out. 

_They have a gun trained on my Alexander._

"NO!" I scream, running over to the front door, but I freeze when I see their hands are empty. Alexander looks over at me. There's a small .45 in his hand, pointed at the men. I gasp, and he grits his teeth. 

"Gilbert, get back," he says.

"Hello, Lafayette," says one of the men calmly. I gulp. They are all tall and strong and could probably knock Alexander aside with a single punch and they are all watching me, amused. They know that I will be dead soon and they are willing to take their time getting me there. One of them takes a step, and Alexander throws one arm out in front of me while holding out the gun with the other. "Stay away from him!"

At that moment I feel John's arms seize around me from behind, and he pulls me against him, shielding me with his body. "Get out," he snarls at the radicals. 

"We're not here to speak to you. Monsieur le Marquis," says the second man, turning to me. I look over at him through the space between John's arms. "We do not want to cause a scene here."

"W-why d-don't you j-just k-ki-kill m-me n-now?" I whimper. 

"Kill you? Here? Don't be a fool. You have neighbors, neighbors who we imagine would not take kindly to the sound of gunfire." He smiles. "And we don't want your friends to be hurt unnecessarily. Instead, we will give you a choice."

"You may have until tonight to say farewell to your boyfriends," interjects the first man. "We will be waiting for you at the abandoned warehouse in lower Manhattan. Do you know the one we speak of?"

I nod shakily. 

"Good. You will come alone, and your friends will remain here. Should you not show up before midnight, we will come to your home and kill both of your friends. There is nowhere for you to run. If you even consider leaving, we will find you - all three of you." He glares down at me, and I feel myself shaking again. "And you can watch your friends die first." 

" _Get out_ ," Alexander hisses. One of them smirks.

"We will see you soon, Lafayette," he says. 

They leave. 

I bury my face in John's neck, sobbing. He has to hold me up to keep me from collapsing to the floor. 

It's real, all of the nightmares I've ever had and all of the fears that hd consumed me for so long. They're real they're all real and I am going to die.

If I don't, Alexander and John will die so I have no choice. 

Alexander rushes across the room, grabs his phone, and sprints over to the window. "What are you doing?" John hisses. 

"Just give me a minute!"

"Alexander, they're going to kill Gilbert!"

"No they aren't." 

A spike of terror shoots through me.  _No, he's going to try to save me..._

"But they  _said -_ "

"I'm not going to let you save me, Alexander!" I scream. "I can't let you die too!"

"I'm not going to die. You're not going to die." He comes over to me and takes me gently out of John's arms and kisses my forehead. "I can save you. Listen to me. I need you to look at me, okay?"

I look at him, still shaking. He holds up his phone, goes over to the camera, and presses play on a video. I hear a moment of silence, and then Alexander's voice saying, "Can I help you?"

"You..." John whispers.

"I taped the whole thing," he replies. "I started the recording before I opened the door. And I got pictures of their license plate number. And of them, while they were leaving." He flips through several other pictures of the men from the side. "I'm going to call the police. And since we know where they'll be waiting for you, the cops can get them. You're safe now, Gilbert. They won't be able to hurt you." 

I blink, staring at those pictures on the phone. Can it really be...?

"In fact," Alexander adds, "the French police are probably looking for them too. So we have even more proof that they're criminals."

I look up at him through the tears in my eyes. My heart is racing and then slowing down and my entire body is shaking, but there's a smile splitting my face and I throw my arms around Alexander's neck. 

"Th-thank you," I sob. "Thank you."

"Told you I could save you, beautiful," he says, hugging me back. I reach out and grab John and pull him over to us too, and the three of us stand there tangled together and holding each other and me crying because maybe finally finally all of this is over and I'm safe. 

John kisses the side of my head and pulls back. "We can't stay here, though," he says. "They're gonna come here soon to make sure you've gone down to the warehouse." 

"One thing at a time," Alexander reminds us. "First we have to go to the station and show them everything that we filmed and photographed."

"And after that?"

"We can crash at a friend's, I guess."

John and Alexander glance at each other, then at me. "Do any of us have any friends outside of each other?"

I think for a minute, then get an idea. "Hang on." I run over to my room, grab my phone, open it to contacts, and press a number.

"Hello?" 

"Hi, Herc. It's Gilbert."

"Hey, Gilbert. How's life."

"Very good. Can my two friends and I sleep on your couch tonight?" 


	6. And What Came After

I thought there was no way it would actually work. 

Once we actually drove down to the NYC Police Department, I was positive that this would never work, that the radicals would not be outsmarted by a college kid with a cell phone. 

But we gave them all the evidence and they made calls to the French Police Force (at least I think it was) and we had to stay there late giving evidence and our names and what we thought the bad men's names might be and it was all very exhausting and eventually I fell asleep with my head on John's shoulder, so he carried me to the car. I woke up long enough to give directions back to the campus. By that point it was late in the afternoon but I was so tired I could have slept forever. I curled up in the back seat with my head in Alexander's lap and my legs across John's and the police officers drove us to the campus with an armed escort, which I think was very nice of them. 

We stayed at Herc's until the news announced that the killers of Michel Lafayette had been found and were being shipped back to France for trial - in addition to the charges they sustain in America for threatening me. 

So we went home. 

 

Our life is not perfect. Our life never will be perfect. 

I still wake up screaming sometimes. I still cry myself out of nightmares in the middle of the night. 

But now when that happens, I don't have to cry alone in my closet anymore. Now Alexander and John come running and they hold me while I cry and cry until my breathing gets steady, and my body stops shaking, and my heartbeat slows down into the same rhythm as theirs...

And then sometimes, there are thunderstorms, and Alexander covers his head and he's back in the Carribean with hurricanes whipping around him threatening to blow him away as they've already blown away his life. He clings to me and John like we are the anchors holding him to the world. 

Once Henry Laurens called and John almost passed out, but I was so sick of that man even though I hardly knew anything about him that I snatched up the phone and answered.

"Hello?"

"Hello, who is this?"

"This is Gilbert Lafayette."

"Oh, I'm sorry, I must have the wrong number."

"You don't."

"...I see. Is John Laurens there?"

"Yes."

"And what are you doing near his phone?"

"I live with him. And our other friend Alexander."

There was a long pause, and then Henry Laurens said quietly, "do you mean to tell me that you and this other young man are my son's boyfriends?"

I laughed and kept laughing, and that made him sound annoyed. "No," I said. "We are far closer to each other than that."

And I hung up the phone. 

 

Our life is not perfect, but it is good. 

I no longer have to be afraid of a death at the hands of those men. There are other radicals and other people who hate the titles of the nobility, but they do not know where to find me. 

I make the calls I need to make and sell what remains of my father's estate, and donate the money to charities in France. I also give away all the money he left me in his will. I have no need of money. I have John and Alexander, and they are all I will ever need. 

We love each other so much it's hard to believe sometimes. And if Henry Laurens hates us for it or people give us strange looks on the street sometimes, we don't care because they will never understand and they will never need to.

There is the world, and all of it's problems and pains and worries that crept into our minds and turned our light to shadow, all the darknesses that keep spreading out like ink spills and ensnaring people and judging those like us who escaped through the love that guided us out of that darkness... There is the world, and then there is us. 

We are beautiful.

Our life is beautiful. 

And even if I will never be completely okay, I would not trade the life I have now for any sanity that could be given me. 

Why would I need sanity when I have them? 

They are the most perfect madness that ever could have captivated me, and they are the cure I needed for so long. 

They healed me. 

And I love them. 


	7. Epilogue

The hill on Saint Croix is overgrown with weeds. The path has long since vanished under the wild flowers and plants that crept back in; no one has been here in a long, long time. 

Yet, it is beautiful, even if we have to stumble through knee-high grasses and John has to grab my hand to keep me from slipping at least fifty times. 

Alexander takes out his phone for the fifth time and then swears as he realizes there is no data here in the middle of nowhere. "Alexander, stop checking the weather," says John yet again. "Look, there's not a cloud in the sky." 

We planned our trip here on a week when there would be no storms or even rain. But he's still worried. 

"Calm down,  _amour,_ " I call over my shoulder. "It's a beautiful day."

"I know..."

John walks over to Alexander and grabs his shoulders. "If you don't want to do this, we don't have to." 

Alexander glances up to the crest of the hill and squares his shoulders. "No, I can do it. Let's go."

John kisses his cheek and grabs his hand. They both rejoin me and we keep climbing. 

The gravestone at the top of the hill is small and dirty; I brush off the dirt from the stone and step back. 

_Rachel Faucette_

_Born June 6th, 1969. Died February 19th, 2008_

_Mother, sister, daughter. Forever in our hearts._

"Forever in our hearts," Alexander reads quietly. "And everyone just forgot her."

John reaches over and grabs Alexander's hand, and I take the other quietly. "We won't forget," John says gently. 

I look down at the grave for a minute, and then I let go of Alexander's hand and step closer and sit down at the foot of it. "Hello Miss Faucette," I say lightly. "I am Gilbert Lafayette. I am your son's..." I think for a minute. "Well, there isn't really a word for what I am to him. But I love him very, very much." I reach over and brush off some dirt that is still dusting the grave. "I want to thank you for raising Alexander so well and taking such good care of him for twelve years. Without you, he would not even be here probably. And I would have wilted a long time ago without him." 

I hear John and Alexander come up behind me and sit down next to me, but I keep talking. 

"I just want you to know," I continue, "that I am going to take really good care of him. That I love him so, so much. And I will never stop loving him as long as I am alive."

Alexander is crying; I can hear it. I reach over and grab his hand. 

"That's all I wanted to say," I finish. "Rest in peace."

John sets down the small bouquet of flowers that he bought in one of the small shops in the town below. "What he said," he mumbles.

Alexander leans against my shoulder, crying, and I wrap an arm around him and John does the same. John takes my hand with the one of his that is free. We stay there, holding onto each other as the sun shines down on all of us. Through the wind whistling the trees around us, I see the ghost of who my Alexander was fading into nothing as the tears he sheds now cleanse away the last regrets of his past. I lift my head to that shining sun, letting it dry the tears on my face. 

I like to think that Rachel Faucette, up in heaven, is with my father and Jemmy Laurens, and they are looking down at us happy that we found each other. Maybe they know that their deaths are part of the reason why we are what we have been for so long. But at the same time, I hope that they are glad we have each other to heal and to hold. I think we have their blessing to love each other. And I think that they are happy, like we are. 

No, our lives will never be perfect. I have already established that and figured it out and accepted it.

But...

When things get bad, or dark like they were so recently, I just focus on the truths that I can live by:

My name is Gilbert Lafayette. I am imperfect and messy. And I am beautiful. I know this because the two people I love told me so.

A while back, I met the most perfect person on the planet, and his name was Alexander Hamilton.

Then I met someone else, and he was perfect in a different way; his name was John Laurens.

I loved and love both of them more than I thought anyone was capable of. And they love me. And they love each other, too.

The whole world seemed against us sometimes, but whether we were cursed or simply enormously unlucky didn't really matter, because we had each other and that meant we could get through anything.

All of us were broken. Fortunately, our shattered pieces fit together, and we fixed each other.

We fixed each other.

 

_THE END_


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